The crazed ramblings of a wife of a Royal Naval Sailor

Psychic spots.

I have psychic spots. Exactly a week before homecoming a pimple the size of mount Vesuvius starts to grow. Typical. They must either be psychic or subscribed to link letters I dunno. All I do know is that every single homecoming ones turned up to royally piss me off.

All I think every time I look in the mirror is:

“Dontsqueezeitdontsqueezeitdontsqueezeit”.

When I brush my teeth

dontsqueezeitdontsqueezeitdontsqueezeit

When I’m trying on my homecoming outfit

Dontsqueezeitdontsqueezeitdontsqueezeit

You get the idea.

Time marches on and I get on with the cleaning binge, the navy wife MOT and the squeaky Facebook updates. All the while thinking (on some level) dontsqueezeitdontsqueezeitdontsqueezeit.

I’m really good and do what all the womanly magazines say, drink oceans of water, let the air get to it, put potions and creams on it, hot flannels, the works. Can’t let a spot mar the visage for homecoming.

So naturally the night before homecoming I do a makeup cover-up practise go. The foundation promises to cover all my flaws and make me all radiant and dewy and glowing.

Nope. Just look like a camel.

And mr spot now looks like the hump of a camel.

Argh!!!!

So…..what do you think I do?

Of course, I squeeze the spot.

But I don’t just squeeze it and leave it, oh no, I go all brave heart on it’s spot ass.

The carnage that is my face stares aghast at me from the mirror, no amount of 001ivory beige ultra smooth satin foundation with micro whatsits and glide on dooh dahs and superglue-forever-stay is going to cover that.

Why oh why did I squeeze the psychic homecoming spot?

Hope that made you smile, Muchos love xxxx

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